


Seeking Solace

by omixnous



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Because Nathan, Bunch of grim stuff being implied/referenced/internalized, But y'all mostly here for the angst amirite, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Post Sacrifice Chloe Ending, Rehabilitation, Slow Build, Sort of? They haven't seen each other in years really, This is grahamscott so, Warren is vibing in college, more tags to come once i figure this shit out, nathan is in prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22669069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omixnous/pseuds/omixnous
Summary: Years have passed since the Blackwell Academy fiasco: a well established art professor and his student accomplice arrested for their sick “after class projects.”Warren Graham had long forgotten about his time there, he graduated and moved from Arcadia Bay as soon as he could to attend the college he wanted. Everything was back to normal.That is, until one morning, he receives a startling letter from someone he once knew.
Relationships: Warren Graham/Nathan Prescott
Comments: 72
Kudos: 190





	1. Chapter 1

He finds it, in between a handful of flyers.

_To Warren Graham_

Followed by his dorm number and address.  
Receiving unexpected mail should be something exciting. Except right now, holding it in his hand, Warren feels like he just got slapped in the face more than anything else. Even more so after reading the stamp next to his own name.

**MAILED FROM A STATE CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION**

_Why..?_  
He doesn’t need to look at the sender’s name; he has some idea of whom the author was. Instead, Warren goes for a corner of the envelope and tears it open. He empties out it’s contents and impatiently unfolds it. Glances at the sheet of paper quickly, letting a few distant words stand out to his inattentive eyes.

A handwritten letter. Dedicated to him.

Every time Warren thought he could have a peaceful life, away in college minding his own business, away from the past horrors he had to witness, there was always something coming up to bite him in the ass for trying to escape the cursed realm that was Arcadia Bay.

It’s been almost 3 years since the trial.  
He remembers the room being extra packed: curious Blackwell students, sniffling family members, eager journalists and stiff lawyers. He remembers the shame painted on Mr. Wells face, the tears on Joyce’s.  
That Warren from then knew what to expect. He had seen more than enough of those during the funeral. But still, he went. Mostly for Max. As painful as it was seeing her eyes all puffy, there was no doubt his friend needed all the support she could get on that day, while she testified in front of the attentive audience.  
So he went. He went and Goddamn he wished he didn’t, during those few days following up the event, when all he could think about wasn’t the chilling trial itself, but _him_. Him as he sat there, at the defendant table, surrounded by what seemed like the state’s best damn lawyer. Dressed sharp aside from the handcuffs and chains resting on his skinny wrists, hair slicked back, head held high but betrayed by eyes oh _so_ empty.

He knew he shouldn’t feel bad for the dickhead, especially with having all the things Max had said about him in mind. There was so much more going on to this story, so much shit no one but the two of them knew about, simply because it hadn’t happened in this timeline. So much pain unfairly inflicted. So many more deaths. So much chaos relating from meteorological disasters, caused by an unnatural ability to control time.  
He was grateful that she would even consider trusting him with something this big and so, he’d promised her to keep the secret. Not that anyone would believe him anyway, Warren felt crazy enough to believe it himself.

He lets go of the tension he was unconsciously holding the letter with, looking at the paper’s crumpled sides. Finally, he lets go of it altogether.  
He didn’t want to read it yet. After all, it’s been years; his memory needed some refreshing. All it took was one google search. Warren sits at his desk where his computer stationed and, carefully, typed his infamous ex-”classmate”’s name onto the browser:

_Nathan Prescott_

From there, dozens and dozens of articles, official documents and pictures popped up on the screen.  


A well known and loved photography teacher standing in the courtroom next to Arcadia’s prodigal son, both exposed as monsters to the world and, rightfully so. Looking at that one picture of Mark Jefferson being escorted outside the school building by policemen, Warren let’s out a snort.  
Back then, just like everyone else, he asked himself the obvious questions: _why would anyone do something this sick? Was there any way to prevent it?_ But now, if the ever growing number of thriller movies and scary threads Warren had seen through the years could teach him anything, it’s that this one story wasn’t all that surprising. There was no point in anyone torturing themselves with questions that simply had no answer to them. It’s always normal-looking people who turn out to be the most twisted. Life sure was unpredictable.

Clicking on the first report available on the search page, he reads:

_The verdict is finally in, bringing a dramatic end to this nerve wracking case. The accused, at the young age of 18, is being convicted on over XX felony and misdemeanor counts. Some of which include: illegal possession of drugs, illegal possession of a firearm, possession of a firearm on school grounds, second degree manslaughter, being accomplice to causing many persons to ingest a controlled substance with the intent of committing second degree kidnapping, being accomplice to murder during second degree kidnapping,.._

_Guess there’s only so much money can help you get away with_ , he states to himself, or really, to the familiar pixelated face displayed on the side of the article.

Shortly after the funeral, when the investigations started, Max had explained to him Nathan’s real implication in the whole Dark Room thing; how his already damaged mind was like putty in the agile hands of Jefferson.  
In a way, he understood how appealing having the renewed professor by his side could’ve been, either as a mentor or, knowing how shitty Nathan’s dad and every adult around him were, as a father figure. Appealing, reassuring, yet incredibly dangerous. If Warren had to keep anything from his friend’s shaky words, it’s that Nathan knew he was fucked for a very long time, if not from the get-go. “Fucked” was an understatement: there just wasn’t any way for him to escape the scheme on his own term without ending up dead in a ditch. Max didn’t go into much detail, but did mention a distressing voice message she received on _that_ infernal day.  
Still, it didn’t erase the fact that on one fateful morning, the guy decided he was going to bring a loaded gun to school and discharge it on Chloe in the damn girl bathroom. Involuntarily or not.

Everyone expected the Prescott family to do their best to save face, to save their son a few jail years by pleading good ol’ insanity. Guess his lawyers thought differently, they were right to; Nathan knew the shit he was participating in was wrong. He might’ve been dealing with some mental issues but he still knew right from wrong. Hell, he even showed remorse and from what Warren knows, straight up admitted everything to the police.  
His situation did not meet the legal definition required for an insanity defense. However, the judges laid back on him a little, knowing all the vindicating details about what went into the case.

To be completely honest, Warren wasn’t sure how to feel about Nathan.  
One thing he was sure of, is that he genuinely wished things were different. For every party involved in this mess.  
But then again, if what his time-traveler friend had said was true, “different” was even worse than whatever kind of nightmare this already was.

Eventually, he closes the tab and after a long sigh, takes the letter in hand again. Gently touches the paper with the pad of his thumbs. Feels it for a moment.  
The paper’s quality is rather poor, there are some ink stains here and there, a few hasty erasures.  


Before Warren could get into actually reading it’s mysterious contents, the phone buried in his jeans pocket started buzzing. Quickly, he fishes it out and lets a soft gasp escape his lips as he catches the caller’s name. He may have been thinking about her just now, it’s easily been months since the two of them really got in contact. The odd timing made his eyes squint at the device’s screen a little.  
Scratching his neck with his free hand, he answers the call.

“Hi Max, what’s up?” He greets her, cracking a smile as if she could see him.  


“Hey Warren.” _Feels strange, hearing her soft voice again_. “Hope I didn’t startle you by calling,” She chuckles a little. “I got this weird thing that just came up and I thought you’d be interested to hear about it-”  


“Nathan.” He cuts her before she could even get to the point, vocal cords cracking slightly.  


There’s a small pause. Warren could hear his friend huffing out a laugh after a moment.  


“You’ve got one too, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello grahamscott nation. Let's hop into this new journey together. Hell yea  
> First of all, big thanks to my beta reader Cass and to everyone who’s been motivating me to pursue this fic idea by threatening to break my kneecaps  
> Not to flex but i've been a stinky grahamscott stan for years now; it's about goddamn time i go and put my big, expert brain to use  
> Honestly i’m not too sure where I wanna go with it just yet but Fuck it >:( i’m excited let’s do this babey….  
> Tho I feel like it's important for me to mention that this is my first fic and english isn’t my first language so uhhh yeah.better not make fun of my writing skills or i'll cry. deadass. Legend says if you stick with me and this fic long enough, you might notice improvement doe...  
> Anyways, hope you've enjoyed this first chapter! It ain't much but it's honest work  
> Feedback is greatly appreciated, you can find me on Insta and Twitter under the same username as here  
> See y'all next time fellas


	2. Chapter 2

In a way, prison is almost better than what Nathan had in Arcadia.

Sure, getting used to his new life here was a slow and painful process.  
During the first few months, his mental health took a massive toll. The thought that all of this was real and not some wack dream. That he was really stuck here and done for. That it was really over. It was mortifying.  


Then, he realized; It _was_ over.  


Physically? Yeah, he was locked up and sleeping in a dirty cell. But he was _free_ from Jefferson. Alive. He didn’t have to worry about any of that shit anymore. It was truly over.  
He isn’t sure if he will ever stop feeling guilty for all the ‘trouble’ he had caused, if that’s even an option at all. Nevertheless, the deed was done and he was now paying the consequences. He could focus on other things. He had to.  
Luckily for him, he can do all the focusing in the world here, all he has left is time.  
He has so much time in his hands, it didn’t take long for it to become mind numbing. And when he doesn’t completely forget about the concept of time, he’s hyper-aware of it. His thoughts then really aren’t all that cheerful.  
For example, he had just started to grasp just how much he missed out on life at age 21.  
All the normal teen shit he never had the chance to experience because he was too busy being an edgy asshole, tangled in some fucked up photography teacher’s wet dream. Nathan had often found himself being nostalgic of a life he didn’t even live, longing for stuff he had never even wanted before.

In the end, the only focusing he can do, is just on more bad things. _Whew!_ He doesn’t have to deal with constant stress and mayhem anymore, only this crushing emptiness with a few pinches of regret, anger and sadness. _What a great fucking upgrade._  
Another thing was, he feels lonely.  
He has no one in prison and has barely anyone left on the outside. It’s not like he had that many people in his life before all of this; solitude wasn’t that foreign of a concept to Nathan. Except now, it’s almost like that loneliness took a physical form. It comes in waves, grabbing him by the throat. He could practically _feel_ it.

The other inmates aren’t all trying to gut him for being a Prescott, at least not anymore. Some are actually pretty nice and protective of him. He just isn’t interested in developing any friendship with these people. _Jeez_ , sometimes he wants to scold himself for being so judgmental. He really isn’t in an adequate place to judge others.  
Being in a single-cell isn’t helping with loneliness either.  
He did have a cellmate at the beginning, but that didn’t end well. The guy was fine until he must’ve found what Nathan could only guess were some newspapers or articles online because one day, he tried to taunt Nathan by bringing up his case and making stupid fucking comments about it.  
So Nathan did what he had to do; he bashed his teeth in.  
Some things never change.

He had been sent to solitary confinement a few times. It wasn’t always because of fights though.

Actually, the single-cell isn’t all that alienating; there’s Rachel.  
He can hear her sometimes.  
Isn’t it funny, how he manages to chat with a dead chick more than with any living human being that’s rotting in this place right next to him?  
Okay, maybe prison isn’t better than Arcadia.  
But whatever, it’s what he deserves and he knows it. It was deemed to happen, wasn’t it? Little Prescott freak ending up all alone in a hole. Just him, his suffocating thoughts and the few hallucinated voices that manage to break through the chemical veil that’s supposed to protect his brain.  
Because obviously, he still has to take medications as well as seeing a psychiatrist.  
Speaking of, it was now time for his weekly appointment.

It doesn’t matter how many different shrinks he had to get in details into what goes in his stupid mind with, nor how many years he went through that same exact process. It’s still undeniably hard for him to open up. Even when his current psychiatrist told him he had made “progress” in the matter, he could hardly see a difference between their recent conversations and the ones from months ago.  


Talking still feels useless, in a way; what’s the point if all it does is bring out to the surface painful memories and feelings you’ve been deliberately burying deep, deep in the depths of your noggin. Most times, all talking did to him was leaving him even more upset than before. Is this really how therapy’s supposed to feel like?  
Still he went every week or so, it’s not like he had a choice. In that sense his life pre-prison and in prison wasn’t all that different, only change was that this time it wasn’t his father forcing him to see doctors: it was the motherfucking state of Oregon itself. _Fantastic._

Sitting on a rusty old chair in the small office, Nathan calmly observes Dr. Lambert while she’s going through folders on a big messy shelf. She pulls one out and drops it on the desk. Sighing, she finally sits down, facing her patient.

“So. Nathan, do you remember our little exercise?” She asks without looking at him, opening up the folder and clicking open a pen.  


“Yes.” He sure does. The exercise she introduced him to during their appointment from two weeks ago was such a hassle. It consisted in writing an apology to people he has hurt, and sending it to them.  


“Good, have you completed any letters?” She crosses her arms, still looking down at some notes. Notes about him.  


“A few yeah.”  
He was still working on some but so far, he had sent 5: Hayden, Dana and Juliet for basically obliterating their friendship and the trust they once had in him, Caulfield for pulling the trigger on her friend right in front of her, Graham his ex-‘classmate’ and dorm neighbor for being an asshole to him overall and Kate for… everything.  


“How did it make you feel?”  


“Anxious, relieved… then stupid.” He admits, head hanging to the side, not really looking at his psychiatrist but past her.  


“Stupid?” She lifts her head to look at him properly. “Why?”  


“I don’t know..” He shifts uncomfortably in the chair and the creak it draws out makes him wince a little. “I feel like I shouldn't have sent them anything. Like, I wouldn't want Jefferson to write me a fucking ‘Oh sorry I’ve hurt your feelings’ letter.”  


Even though he still hates talking about his feelings, at least he doesn't have to hide the Dark Room part anymore.  


“This exercise is about you Nathan, to help you. I believe you when you say you wouldn't like being on the receiving end of those apologies, but that’s how you feel. You don't know how they feel.” She explains calmly.  


There’s a small pause.

“Maybe your apology means something to them.”  


“Erhh. I really doubt that.”  


The doctor gazes at Nathan in thoughts for a moment. She adds something to her notes then, reaches back into the folder to take out an envelope that was kept in between files and presents it to him.  


“Well,” She insists, now giving him a trusting smile. “Don’t be so certain.”  


He seizes the item and flips it over to read the sender’s name.

**_Warren Graham_**

_The fuck? Graham? Out of everyone I wrote to? Fucking Christ._  
“It doesn't mean anything,” He shrugs nonchalantly. “He could just be telling me to fuck off in fancy hand-lettering for all I know.”  


“Do you think he would have sent you a response if he did feel that way?”  


_Shit, she has a point._ Looking at Dr. Lambert in silence and letting his hands fall to his lap was the man’s way of admitting she was probably right.

“Now, how is your letter to Victoria coming along?”  


“I...”

Truth was, he was scared shitless.  
All these years, Victoria was the only one who really cared about him. The one who saw him during his lowest lows and stayed by his side no matter how awful he had been. The only one making sure he was okay, all while he was drugging innocent girls in her back. While he hid how fucked up and dangerous her then biggest role model was.  
He didn't shoot Victoria dead, nor her friend. He didn’t take her to the Dark Room. Yet, he felt like he had hurt her the most out of everyone. There’s so fucking much to tell her, he has no idea where to start.  
Writing her a stupid apology was useless; he simply doesn’t deserve her forgiveness.

Nathan must’ve been silent for a while, because Dr. Lambert catches up on him by answering her own question before he even has the chance to.  


“It’s okay if you’re not ready yet Nathan. I know Victoria isn’t just any friend to you. You don’t have to send anything to her at all if you don’t want to.”  


“But I know I should. It’s just-I..” He lets go of the envelope and hides his now clammy hands underneath his thighs.  


“I want you to write your letter to Victoria. I am not asking you to complete that task for next week, not next month either. You don’t have to send it at all, but I strongly encourage you to write it.”  


“Alright. I’ll do it.” He concludes quietly. Lips pressed in a fine line.  


She smiles at him in acknowledgment.

“What about your parents? You were reluctant to the idea last week when I suggested it to you.”  


Nathan refused to write to his parents. Had been refusing to see them altogether for a while, unless it was important. It’s not like it was a delight for them to be reminded that their son was a criminal anyway. His mother sends him a birthday card every year though, for what it’s worth.  
The only family member he has accepted to keep in contact with was his sister Kristine, who came back in town during all the trials. She had visited him a few times in prison and they exchanged letters sometimes. He misses her.  


“Well I haven’t changed my mind. I won’t write them shit.”  


“Very well, this is up to you and you only after all.” She wasn’t all that surprised; she knows how her patient feels about his parents by now.

Rearranging files into the folder, she coughs in her fist.  
“What about you Nathan? How are you feeling?”  


_Here it is_ , the part he loathes the most.  
“Oh you know, highs and lows.” He replies, detached. Mimicking with his hands what looks like roller coasters.  


“Your new medication should have settled by now, still having any side effects?” She asks, searching for something in Nathan’s eyes.  


He looks down, escaping the overwhelming gaze.  
“Don’t know, guess not.”

Silence again. Yet another wonderful part of the ‘talking to professionals’ experience no one tells you about.

“You know you need to tell me if you feel like you’re about to relapse Nathan. We can’t risk having you try to hurt yourself again, or someone else.”  


_Oh c’mon._  
It pisses him off, how she keeps reminding him of that incident from months ago. He can feel the phantom sting of now long gone stitches onto his skull.  


“I know.” He breathes out long and slow, just wanting this conversation to be over with.  


“Alright then,” She glances at the watch sitting on her tanned wrist. “I think that’ll be all for this week.”  


The psychiatrist gets up from her chair and Nathan mirrors her awkwardly. She leads him to the door, opens it for him and extends her right hand in his direction with a content smile.  


“Till next time, sir.”  
He accepts the handshake, forcing back a smile.

–

Walking through the corridors back to his cell, he suddenly remembers the folded envelope he had stuffed into his pocket earlier leaving the office.  
Nervous anticipation quickly starts to pool in his stomach at the mere thought of it.  
What did the guy even have to say to him ?  
Finally arriving at his destination, Nathan retrieves the item and opens it. He lets himself fall on his mattress with a thud and re-positions himself as to lay down on his back. One leg on top of the other.  
_Here goes nothing._  
He unfolds the letter that was inside and starts his reading.

_Hey. Warren Graham here._

_Honestly wasn’t expecting to receive anything from you, much less an apology.  
Saying sorry for some silly high school bullying stories wasn’t all that necessary but I gotta say it still felt...nice.  
You weren’t the only bully there y’know, my geeky ass definitely was an easy target I admit. But you’re the only one who actually apologized.  
Past the harsh words and things you’ve done to me and so many other kids, really the hardest thing emotionally was to take care of my traumatized, grieving friend. Pretty sure you know whom I'm talking about.  
I’m not ready to accept your apologies for that part of the story just yet. But that doesn’t mean I hate you. You did such shitty things that can never be fixed. But most of us get that you’re not entirely to blame. Life is not always black and white. You, Nathan, are very much grey.  
If you thought of sending a personal apology letter to me for such insignificant things, that probably means you’ve sent ones to other more important people standing waaay higher on your past’s shit-list. And that takes guts. I’m sure it hasn’t been an easy thing to do. I can only respect that.  
And I’m not trying to pity you here, I doubt you’re the type to appreciate pity anyways but yeah. You’re in prison for a reason and I think it’s admirable that you’ve accepted your responsibilities for what got you there in the first place.  
Honestly don’t know if writing you back is a good idea but hey, life is boring sometimes and I'm curious._

_– Warren Graham (In case you didn’t get it the first time)_

Nathan lets out a snort at that last bit. _God, this kid is still nerdy as shit._  
Then, all the words hit him at once. _So.. It’s not a “fuck you”? Not completely?_  
_Wait_ , there was more.

_P.S. I figured you could use a little company, we could have a little back and forth with this letter thing if you’re down for that? Not forcing you, just saying.  
Any funny prison stories maybe?_

It takes a good minute for Nathan to absorb all this. When he does, it’s by standing up from his mattress in a rush to grab paper and a pen in his little drawer.

For once in what seems like fucking forever, he feels a little excited about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lael writin da Nathan POV, what he gonna do? He do be doin a lot of introspection doe..  
> Thank you guys so much for all the feedback on ch1, it was really motivating! Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this one


	3. Chapter 3

Exchanging letters became a part of Warren’s routine.

He finds it almost embarrassing how pumped up he gets when checking his mailbox every few days, hoping to find a fresh letter from his new friend Nathan Prescott.

Because that’s what they were now; friends. _Right?_  
At least he’d like to believe they are, no matter how crazy it may sound.

As explained in his first letter, his life at university was getting boring to say the least. He couldn’t help himself at the opportunity to make a new friend, or even just finding someone else to talk to. He was also curious to see how the guy had turned out. So he went in head first, as open minded as one can be.

And Warren is glad he did.

He felt iffy about his “funny prison stories” olive branch at first, but it did work. Much to his chagrin, Nathan didn’t really have stories to tell ( although he did say he stumbled upon “meat spanking action” by accident so many times it stopped being funny ) but it opened up a dialogue nevertheless.  
The two men have been exchanging letters ever since. Once every week is their current rhythm; Warren sends his letter and usually gets one back a few days later. Sometimes the delay is longer but he blames the prison’s general bad organization.

Personality wise, they are still very much different. But soon enough, they found out that they have way more in common than expected. Warren would call Nathan a nerd if there wasn’t still the tiniest chance he’d get pissed and go back to being his teen, bully, goblin self.

When Nathan told him how bummed he felt for missing out on all his favorite artists, film and tv show releases, Warren couldn’t help but feel a little sad for the guy. _Would sending handwritten tv show episodes summaries be considered sharing confidential information?_ Who knows. He did it anyway and Nathan thanked him for it. So it was worth the effort.

Best of all, they’ve even been playing tic tac toe. Adding their X’s and O’s one after the other at the end of each letter. Nathan had accused him of secretly changing his last move as to win then proceeded to call him a “cheating rat bastard.” Obviously, Warren pretended he had no idea what he was talking about.

It doesn’t feel like he’s interacting with this same dude he would once give anything to just cuss out back at and curb stomp. Instead, he discovered someone new.  
Someone...complex, sure. But someone he had learned to appreciate the company of. Nathan isn’t much of an ass anymore and Warren isn’t as insecure as he used to be; their friendship seems to work, to literally everyone’s disbelief.  
Handwritten letters will never completely do justice to what their personalities are really like but still, he can tell Nathan has been gifted with an intense one. He is still pretty distant, hard to figure out. But he can also be funny and a generally chill presence. _Human_ , at last.

Well, Warren isn’t too sure if he views it as a “discovery” only because he had finally dared to look past everything to get a glimpse of the real Nathan that was laying underneath throughout all this time, or if the man had simply changed into a nicer person during those few years locked away. He hopes it’s the latest. Warren would feel terrible for wasting so much time assuming shitty things about somebody, the same way too many people have done with him.  
Maybe if the circumstances were different the two of them wouldn’t have been foes back then.

So yes. Warren sees a friend in Nathan.

–

Today, Warren is skipping class for good reasons.

Max had moved back to Seattle after graduating. It’s quite the ride but Warren doesn’t mind; he loves driving. Though he did go through a painful break up with his car not that long ago. He loved his old school baby ( or as everyone liked to call it, his “time machine” ) but _hell_ , there’s only so much you can do when it breaks down and you have little to no mechanics knowledge and money left to fix it. A family acquaintance was generous enough to lead him his current one in return of some fence painting and lawn mowing. _Better than nothing_ , he thought.

Warren drives his way to their newly designated hangout spot. He’s a responsible driver, but still allows himself to look out the window and appreciate the landscapes from time to time. The weather is nice today.

He gets to his destination a little earlier than the time they agreed on. That’s fine. He passes the coffee shop’s sliding doors and looks for a well placed table he and Max can both sit at, away from the entrance where chilly spring breeze makes it’s way in.  
Warren is actually relieved he has some time left in his hands to mentally prepare before his friend arrives; he feels nervous, had been during the entire ride there. To calm himself, the grounding technique is often his go-to. So, he stretches out on his seat, takes a long breath and looks around. Focuses on the constant, muffled sound of people chatting and coffee brewing. Lets it’s strong but pleasant smell fill his nostrils.

He doesn’t regret letting Max choose the place. It’s cozy. Not too crowded. Meticulously decorated. A perfect, almost cliche Seattle hipster vibe that just screams “Max Caulfield”. He smiles to himself.  
He’s excited about finally spending time with her, yet he can’t help but feel a little anxious. Nathan’s letters is the reason why Warren and her got in contact again; there’s no way she won’t bring up the topic at some point. Problem is, he isn’t sure how to handle that conversation, or if he’s even able to at all.

Before Warren could let himself spiral downward even further, someone jogs up in his direction.  
“Hey! Sorry, I’m a little late.”

Brought back to reality, the young man snaps his head up. _There she was._

“Hey Max!” He gets up from his chair and greets his friend with a long overdue embrace which she gladly leans into. “Not at all, my dumb ass just got here way too early.” Max doesn’t seem to mind the way he lets the hug last a little longer than necessary. He discreetly gets a whiff out of her perfume. _Is he being weird?_ Damn he had missed her.

After a moment, she slowly breaks the embrace. “Wait. No way. Is that...” Taking a step back, she inspects Warren with attentive eyes, still holding onto his elbows. “Stubble?... Wow. You kids grow up so fast.” She grins, way too smug for his liking.

“Oh my god, shut up.” He laughs, embarrassed. Immediately bringing a hand to his face, touching the coarse little hairs on his jaw.

Max lets her laugh die out, replacing it with a warm smile instead.  
“You look great Warren. It’s been a while.” She places a hand on Warren’s shoulder and with fondness, she squeezes it. “For reals.”

“It has.” He agrees quietly then, takes a second to get a good look at his old friend.  
Max’s hair is somewhat a little longer than the last time he saw her. The top part of it is tied in a loose bun in the back. She’s wearing a thick mustard scarf and round glasses. _Did she need those back then?_  
“Loving the grandma look here. Bold choice, respect.” He nods at her slowly, trying not to get into another fit of laugh. No way he’d let her get away with making fun of his hard-earned facial hair.

Max gasps at his statement, mouth gaping dramatically then, playfully hits the same shoulder she was holding a few seconds prior. “Low blow. But also, true.”

“Alright, let’s go get something.”

–

“So,” Warren pauses to appreciate that first sip from his coffee. “What's up?“

“Well. You know,” Max sets her drink and bag on the table then sits down facing him. “College and stuff, I guess.”

“Please tell me you’re still attending this photography college you told me about.”

“Duh. And I know you’re burning to ask so,” She unpacks her bag with excitement and grips onto something he hasn’t seen in years. “Yes. I am still using my instant camera as well.” She declares, showing it off like it’s her most prized possession. Which honestly, probably is.  
“Now, gimme your best smile, big boy.” She coos, pointing the camera at his face.

“Oh no...” He cracks up but complies. The pose he’s going for? Coffee cup in one hand, his trademark peace sign with the other. Offering her his best smile just like she has asked him to. The flash goes off with a _click_ so loud it startles him a little.

“Show me! Show me!” Warren requests in a voice almost child-like, bent over the table in attempt to snatch the photo from Max’s hand.

“Gotta wait a few minutes for it to develop. Sorry, can’t rush art.” She extends her hand out of his reach then once it’s safe, stashes both the instant film and the camera away, back into her bag.

“Whaaat. That’s lame.” He pouts, slouching back onto his seat.

“Uh Huh. Sure. Thought you would know about the scientific process behind instant photography. Aren’t you supposed to be this big science nerd? You’re slacking, my dude.” She manages to taunt in between sips.

Warren rolls his eyes at her and breathes out a laugh.

–

The two friends finish their coffee all while chatting about nothing and everything.  
It feels good, Warren thinks. Seeing Max again in the flesh. He’s glad she seems to be doing okay with life and school. He’s glad she never gave up on her passion for art.

She tells him about her new friends from uni, about how she more or less stayed in contact with older ones. She even reached out to Kate for an art project; they visited an elementary school and while Kate taught the kids how to draw cute little animals, Max would take candid photographs. Warren is proud of knowing such talented people.

Max then shows him her Instagram feed and the ones of old high school classmates they’ve had in common. In his defense, Warren is more of a Reddit kinda guy so he didn’t really bother looking up old faces on different social medias. Some have changed so much he can barely recognize them anymore. _A Vortex jock turning out normal? Crazy what three years can do to you._ Although, some of them haven’t changed at all. Warren wonders if he has changed as much as he thinks he has. _God_ , he hopes so.  
Has Nathan changed at all, at least physically? Well, _duh._ Doubt there’s any dumb-looking red varsity jackets available in the prison’s commissary.

In the end, ( hand only “barely” forced by Max ) he caves and installs the app again to follow a few people. That, after rushing to delete all his cringe-worthy old posts like his honor depends on it. _Oh how much I hate you, younger Warren. Why would you post so many bad selfies? Five Night’s At Freddy’s fanarts? Really? Die._

Lately, keeping in touch with the Arcadia part of him life didn’t sound all that bad anymore.

Max checks her phone one last time to read the clock on the lock-screen.  
“It’s time!” She claps her hands together then reaches back into her bag to get a hold of that picture she snapped earlier. The two of them stoop forward to gather around it and admire the long-awaited result.

On the photo, Warren appears flushed. His smile wide and his hair wild, strands somehow pointing in every direction even though he spent a good 20 minutes styling it before going out. _Yep. That’s my face._

The natural vintage filter the film created is a nice touch. He gets the appeal of instant photography; it does feel more personal than digital. He would get into it if it wasn’t so damn expensive. _How did Max even manage to buy so many instant films? Is there a special “Polaroid” aisle on the black market only she knows about?_

He gets a strange feeling of déjà-vu all of a sudden. He can’t bring himself to look away from the photo, his brows now furrowed.

“Same pose and all. You haven’t changed a bit.” He can hear a small smile as she whispers.

Warren hums questioningly, finally lifting his head to look at her.  
And when he does, he immediately understands that something’s wrong.

Max’s face appears confused at Warren’s own confusion and as soon as her eyes meet his, they widen. Mouth agape. Frozen. She seems to have realized something. Something...spooky? Or sad? He can’t tell because it’s gone as soon at he notices it; she drops her head and scratches her scalp as to hide her face, he figures.

“Never mind, nothing. Sorry-”

“-Is it..?”

“Nah, doesn’t matter.” She insists. Forcing a smile and agitating her hands in front of her face for emphasis.

Alright. _Weird_ , but he won’t press the matter. Clearly she doesn’t want him to.

“Hey so..” She moves the photo out of their sight, back into her bag. “You said you replied to Nathan, right? How’s that working out?”

_Damn. Way to switch topics, Max._

“I did, yeah.” Warren clears his throat in attempt to shake off the lump that was quickly making it’s way in at the mention of that name. “And he replied back, basically saying ‘thank you’ for not ignoring him.” He explains, playing with the straw in his empty cup. Avoiding the curious gaze he knows his friend was giving him.

He knows she was waiting for more details but he simply isn’t ready to give her that just yet. Or more so, he knows she isn’t exactly ready for those details.  
He was pleased about it not even two hours ago but right now, his friendship with Nathan feels like some kind of dirty secret that he’s compelled to keep to himself. She may not hate the guy, but still, he fears Max would feel betrayed if she knew about it. It’s clear her wounds aren’t completely healed yet, especially after what just happened when she saw the picture. Like, _what in the fresh hell was that._ Did she remember something from another timeline? Did talking about Nathan on the phone that one time revive painful memories?

All Warren knows is that right now is not a good time to tell Max the whole truth.

He won’t tell her about how he and Nathan have been interacting for weeks. How they’ve become somewhat close.  
He won’t tell her about how he got an email from the prison about three days ago informing him that his request to be put on the inmate’s visiting list had been approved.  
Nor that he’s planning on visiting him soon.  
And he definitely won’t express his excitement about it to her.

He tells himself he’s keeping it a secret for now only in Max’s best interest and not because deep, deep down he’s actually ashamed, now that this little bubble he had been living in lately had just been pierced and bursted. Forcing him see the truth for what it really is; he’s friend with the enemy.

What this conversation needs right now is some comic-relief material. Half truths could work for now. _C’mon Warren._

“Feels like I'm in a movie or something, y’know.” He snorts. “Exchanging letters with a convicted felon. The process turned out to be so complex I actually had to look that shit up on Wikihow.” He mumbles. A desperate attempt at trying to fill the awkward silence here.  
Which turns out to work as Max’s facial expression finally changes into something more relaxed, she even chuckles a little. _Phew!_

“I thought about replying too. But I didn’t. And now...Well. It’s a little too late now I guess.” She admits after a while. An apologetic smile on her lips.

He wants to tell her _it isn’t too late_. But the only response Max gets from her confession, is Warren’s hand on top of her own. Squeezed with compassion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the timeskip on this one wasn’t too brutal  
> ALRIGHT hey..long time no see. I blame life  
> Ngl i’ve been having a hard time figuring shit out regarding this fic but after sitting my ass down for REAL i’ve had an epiphany and actually planned out a big part of it. I feel much much better now  
> Once again thank you guys for the support and feedback! See ya


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO LOOK AT [THIS](https://www.instagram.com/p/B9rrNWaFh51/) CH3 FANART MY FRIEND MADE!!IM BAWLING  
>  **TW:** one (1) slur...smh Nathan

Warren Graham. He’s gonna see Warren today.

Nathan stands in the communal bathroom in silence.  
He’s alone if not for the three other regulars here. Just like them, he took advantage of the pimping hot water available only for those brave enough to face the day this early in the morning. A habit from high school he’s thankful he never lost.

One of the small, dirty mirrors hanging on the cracked wall displays his own reflection. He stares at it, static.

It used to be a necessity; making sure his hair was styled and gelled down just right. His shirt tucked in. His expensive shoes polished. Not that he’d admit it to anyone but sometimes he would even sneak into Victoria’s dorm and ask her to cover his eye bags with some makeup when those were too intense. Or some bruises on rougher days.  
Keeping up appearances, leaving up to the Prescott name’s reputation by maintaining the good old “rich kid asshole” cliché. Making sure his character and looks were on point before a vortex meeting, a party or just some boring class he had to attend. It was one of the few things he could have control over, so he tried his best to do just that.

Things are different now.

Nathan doesn’t have to impress anyone here, he doesn’t have any reputation to maintain. This isn’t Blackwell and he’s no king. He’s just an inmate locked up among hundreds of other ones, so why bother? If anything, he’s actually been avoiding mirrors as of late.

And _jesus fucking christ_ he suddenly wishes he cared a little more about his looks because now that he sees it, it’s really not a tasteful sight.

His cheeks are more hollow than he remembers, eyes tired from his last night spent lying awake overthinking and _is that a little scar on the bridge of his nose?_ Long sleeved white shirt underneath the prison’s blue one along with matching loose pants, the whole thing barely fitting his scrawny figure. Some weak stubble along his sideburns. Hair longer than he’s ever had, which is not that long but still long enough to cover his ears, the nape of his neck and even curl a little. _What the fuck._

With his hands exploring the different parts of his own face as if it was the first time he saw it, he sighs heavily then drops his head down with a shake. He barely feels like a shadow of himself. He doesn’t care about what the guys here think of him, Nathan himself was pretty much past the stage of shock and hopping onto the _“guess that’s what I look like now”_ one.  
He just wishes he wouldn’t look so damn disheveled for his first proper meeting with Warren.

Nathan opens the water faucet and runs wet fingers through his hair as to comb them. Tucks some locks behind his ears, combs the top and sides back as best he can for good measure. He doesn’t have time for a haircut now and even if he did, he doesn’t feel like dealing with anyone at the moment. So this will do.

Perfect. Now he can go and pace around the halls to make time pass quicker. Maybe even snack on something to calm down the uncomfortable, stress-induced feeling of sickness in his stomach.

–

He recognizes him, passing through the security glass doors.

In all honesty, Nathan doesn’t quite remember in details what Warren looked like back in high school. It’s been a while and his memory took a toll. What he remembers though, is that he used to bully him for looking too nerdy, too young, or some shit along those lines. Really, he’d find a reason to bully anyone back then. But seeing him today, the guy looks well put together. _Normal._ Which in comparison already makes him way better than the wreck Nathan feels like he is.

Warren walks forward at a careful pace. Eyes scanning the packed visiting room, looking for a specific light brown head. Nathan decides to let him search, just because. It doesn’t take him long to spot the man anyway and when he does, he waves and smiles timidly before making a beeline for the table he’s quietly been sitting at.

It’s happening. _Shit_ , it’s happening.

“Hey, we match!” Warren exclaims as an opening, pointing to his navy blue turtleneck and Nathan’s uniform shirt.

Well. He sure feels ridiculous in it now. Oh the things he’d do to wear a nice, warm sweater again. All that’s available in here is either way too scratchy, too thin or somehow smells like ass.

“You got ‘Inmate‘ printed on the back, too?”

–

From Warren recounting how he witnessed a wild elk crossing the road on his way here and got scared shitless, to Nathan explaining how he recently switched from laundry duty to library one, conversations flow effortlessly. It’s like they’ve always been doing this together.

At some point Warren brings up Caulfield, which makes Nathan a little jittery. He simply informs him that Max is appreciative of the apology he wrote her, even though she may not have replied to him. Nathan isn’t sure if he should find comfort in knowing that his efforts weren’t completely pointless, or get the heebie-jeebies at the mere thought of being Warren and Max’s main subject of discussion.

Does that mean Warren stood up for him or something? Did he tell her about them...? Probably not, there’s obviously limits to Warren’s support. If the roles were to be switched, Nathan doubt he would’ve even had replied back in the first place. So really, it’s whatever. Warren is doing so much for him already.

The visiting hour arrives to it’s end sooner than they realize, signaled by a nonchalant guard yelling for everyone to say goodbye and leave the area. At that, the two men stand up.

Offering Nathan a warm close mouthed smile, Warren concludes softly. “It’s been fun seeing you.”

“Yeah. You’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be.” He jokes, reciprocating the smile without even realizing.

“Oh my. He _can_ smile.”

“Man, shut up.”

Warren chuckles and Nathan can’t help but smile at him again, all genuine and dumb.

He’s so relieved in this moment he feels like he’s floating, now that this first visit is over with. He feared it would be tense, that Warren would see how much of a wretch he actually was in person and flee. Nothing of the sort happened. There really was no need to worry about any of this shit at all.  
It actually went...surprisingly well.

But _of course_ , Life won’t ever let Nathan be in a good mood for too long. As when his glance shifts behind Warren momentarily, it catches something that makes his stomach drop.

One of the inmates in the room is staring at the two of them. All weird, mouth pursed into a sick sneer. _The fuck is this moron looking at?_ It’s really all it takes for Nathan to feel uncomfortable and regret everything he’s done, said and felt in the past hour. It’s like he’s been caught slippin’, doing what? He’s got no clue, but he fucking hates it.

His change in facial expression must’ve been obvious because Warren decides to cough, in attempt to get his attention back.

The two of them stare at each other stupidly, unsure of what to say or do next.

Should he go for a handshake? Jesus that’s so awkward. Well, it’s not like he’d hug the guy goodbye anyway, they’re not there yet. Especially not with this dumbass leering at them as if they were a couple of _fags_ or something. _Handshake it is then._

Head held high to fake being collected _when in reality he’s fighting the urge to run the fuck out of here_ , Nathan presents his right hand to Warren, which is accepted clumsily. And amidst the painfully awkward execution of the gesture, he’s taken aback by the realization that this is the first time they’ve touched today and most likely, in years. If not the first time ever.

He notices how warm his friend’s hand is in comparison to his own. How firm his grip is.

“Oh and also,” Warren trails off, instantly bringing him back down to Earth. Then, without any warning, gets a hold of Nathan’s shoulder with his other hand and leans down his head close to his ear. The whole thing so sudden it makes him flinch, sends shivers down his spine and finally leaves him frozen as he hears in a serious, low tone. “I did move your last X at tic tac toe.”

_This bitch._

–

For today’s visit, Warren bought some change with him for the vending machines.

He comes up to Nathan with a big grin on his lips, his hands full. He proudly extends them to him, offering a small bag of banana chips along with a hot to the touch plastic cup filled with coffee. Nathan mouthes a “Damn” as he accepts the food, to which his friend replies by taking off an imaginary hat and bowing down with a “Ta-da”. _This guy._

“Dude, no offense but all of this still feels.. weird.” Warren laughs nervously.

“What does?” Nathan takes a sip out of his cup and immediately scrunches his nose at how bitter the damn thing tastes. _How the fuck do people seriously enjoy the taste of straight up black coffee?_

“You know like, driving all the way to a federal prison to pay an inmate visits”

_Ouch. Right._

Before Nathan could think of something smart to reply with, the offended part of him counters dryly. “No one’s forcing you to get your ass in here, Graham.”

Warren stares at him, eyebrows raised so high like he can’t believe what Nathan had just said. “I know, that’s not what I meant–Sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair, sighing a moment to compose himself. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole. I’m only here because I want to be, i’m just saying it still feels a little surreal. Sorry again.”

_Ugh. Don’t say “Sorry.” I’m the only one being an asshole here._

_Obviously_ coming here must feel weird. Nathan knows it does, he knows Warren wasn’t trying to be mean by sharing his thoughts.

It’s just that he’s been trying real hard not to let himself go into that shitty mindset where he realizes just how real and immense the separation is between himself, the convict, and the rest of the world. He had always felt inferior to others and that was the main reason why he acted like such an asshole to everyone; to get some power back.

Being reminded that he is in fact inferior for being in here– morally inferior for his crimes, mentally inferior for being weak enough to commit them in the first place and physically inferior for being restricted from doing anything that would make him “normal”... It only worsened that feeling. No matter how hard he tries to avoid those thoughts, it always catches up to him one way or another.

So yeah, he knows Warren’s feelings about coming in this shithole to visit a felon are very much valid. But it still hurts to actually hear it.

He won’t ever explain all that to him, thought.

“Could be worse.” Nathan starts quietly with his voice cracking at the beginning, putting an end to the painful silence. He clears his throat and tries again. “It could be worse. Like, at least you’re not meeting up here with some Hannibal-typa criminal behind a glass wall.”

“Oh god,” Warren snorts at the mental image. “Y’know what? I’m gonna pretend I am, just to make things more interesting. Who am I in this scenario then, Clarice? Wait no. Will Graham. It was meant to be.”

Amused, Nathan listens to his friend’s rambling. Feeling a little better already, grateful that Warren understood his underlined plea to change subject instead of actually apologizing for snapping at him. “Who?”

“Nevermind. I’m just gonna pretend i’m paying a visit to The Joker, more fitting anyways.” He teases.

“Bitch.” Under the table, Warren gets his leg kicked. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be, Batman if he never went to the gym once in his life?” Nathan shots back with a laugh that sounds more like a bark.

“Hey! First of all, I would call my physique a ‘work in progress’. And I was thinking more of another villain mastermind, here to discuss our next evil plan.”

“You? Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Don’t underestimate me, clown.” Warren warns in a forced high-pitched, nasally voice. Propping his elbows on the table, hands under his chin, all in a very villain-esque manner.

“The evil plan can wait. Make yourself useful and use that Riddler big brain of yours to smuggle in some cigarettes for me then, i’m seriously dying here.“ Nathan crosses his arms and legs, sliding down into his chair.

Unimpressed, he asks cocking an eyebrow. “Are you trying to make me believe you didn’t find a way for that already?”

“Of course I have. But they’re so shitty I bet my fucking ass smoking Fruit Roll-Ups would have more effect.”

“Fruit Roll-Ups?” Warren queries with a snicker. Opening up his own bag of banana chips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This quarantine writing be hitting different doe...
> 
> So... They met. I guess.  
> Both hannigram and batjokes references in the same chapter?? Yes. mind ur business
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

He's not sure what went wrong that day.

Nathan is officially allowed two visits per month.  
Both him and Warren agreed that planning one for every two weeks sounded like a good compromise. In the meantime, they’d be doing their thing and that way once they would meet up again, they’d have something to talk about over some snacks from the visiting room vending machine.  
Ever since he noticed the machine on the first day he came here, Warren would always bring some change with him to buy them a little something to drink and eat together. It wasn’t much but it made things feel more.. normal. He could tell Nathan thought so too.

Being able to actually interact with each other in real life was a very different experience from exchanging letters. _Obviously_. Warren just didn’t expect it to be that game changing.  
Letters still felt intimate to him, in a way. But visits were so much more rewarding.

He could finally hear his friend’s voice and not just some distant, inner version of it in his head. He could get instant reactions. See emotions wash over Nathan’s face as they conversations went on and whenever Warren’s dumb jokes made him smile even just faintly, he could see it as a small victory.

Warren felt lucky when he took notice of the way Nathan was changing every two weeks. Slowly, the man was dropping his facades and opening up to Warren.  
That change didn’t necessarily express itself through words; it was the little things. How Nathan shoulders would ease up, how he’d allow himself to smile and laugh in Warren’s presence. Authentic. Vulnerable.

Obviously, there were some days where Nathan was more emotionally available than others. To put it lightly.  
It could be frustrating and frankly difficult for Warren not to take it personally whenever Nathan happened to be having a rough day when he was visiting.. He can’t exactly blame him for _being the way he is_. Warren doesn’t understand it completely. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

He came to the conclusion a while ago that Nathan’s volatile mental stability was just something he had to come to terms with. And because you can’t really predict bad days, Warren figured he could at least try his best not to mention stuff that could possibly rub his friend the wrong way and most importantly, offer him some distraction from everything ( most things ) that’s bothering him. For an hour.

He felt as he had gained Nathan’s trust, even if it was only a little.

He’s been wondering for some time what Nathan’s relationship with Victoria was like ever since he got convicted. Seeing how close the two were all through high school, you’d think they would get back in contact after some time, at least to hear what the other has to say about everything that happened. _Right?_

Warren guessed he was wrong when he managed to take a quick peek at the inmate’s files one time at the reception while the guard wasn’t paying attention. That’s when he took notice of the complete absence of Victoria’s existence in them.  
Her name and information were nowhere to be seen. Not on the visiting list, neither in his contacts.

He thought he’d push his luck a little and ask Nathan about Victoria. Maybe then he’d open up, explain the situation and vent out to him. Warren doesn’t think of himself as the best figure of guidance one could have but nevertheless, he would still gladly try to help. He wanted to show his friend that he cared. That he was here for him. Here to listen.

But as soon as Warren mentioned her, something snapped in Nathan.

And not the kind of snap he’s been used to recently. It was the kind of bite he used to get from him or witness someone else getting from him, back in Blackwell. A harsh, cruel one. One you usually shouldn’t receive from someone you consider your friend.

He can still hear Nathan’s voice distinctly echoing in the back of his mind.

_“Seriously, don’t you have anyone else to annoy? Get the fuck out of my hair, Graham.”_

It was the first time in years that Warren had seen the guy get so genuinely pissed at him.  
He knew there was nothing Nathan could do to him, physically. He wasn’t about to punch his visitor square in the face or threaten his life in front of everyone, but the way his jaw was clenched so tightly and how he glared at Warren dead in the eye was enough to get him genuinely intimidated. _Hell_ , frightened. It was like he transformed into someone else for a second. And if the remorseful look he gave him not too long after meant anything, it’s that he was aware.

Warren left the facility feeling particularly distraught and did not get much sleep that night.

After that, Nathan doesn’t write him. Nor does he make a quick call like they both know he’s allowed to.  
It would be selfish of Warren to blame him for it, though. Because it’s not like he tried to write Nathan anything either.

Furthermore, it seems there’s been some kind of unspoken mutual agreement over the idea that their then next planned visit wouldn’t be happening anymore, as Warren does not go and does not receive any complaint from the prison.

He knows they’ll come through at some point. But for now, it hurts.

It hurts to realize just how quick Nathan took a such a big place in his Warren’s life, and to think about how it all went to shit with a snap of the fingers. All because of something stupid. It scares him. He starts speculating if the feeling of friendship was even mutual in the first place.

More than anything right now, Warren feels lonely.

Spending time alone again, without having anyone to write to or drive hours away to see. It makes him realize just how lonely he was before “meeting” Nathan.

 _Do I have anyone else to annoy?_ Not really, no.  
Actually, he does. But it’s not the same, doesn’t feel the same.  
Warren has friends. People from university he gets along with just fine, nice friends who all have their own personality. The thing is, they all come off terribly bland in comparison to Nathan’s striking one. It’s tough to jump back from someone so unique to people so...normal.

Maybe Nathan was right. Maybe Warren should see other people. Catch up with other friends.  
He would ask Max for advice, except he’d rather not have to explain the whole thing to her right now. He’s still actively putting off telling her about he and Nathan. So, yeah. No.

Thanks to his finals approaching fast, studying kept Warren pretty busy. Allowing him to think about something other than his failure as Nathan-fucking-Prescott’s friend for more than a few minutes a day.  
Today though? He’s done. He wants a break from this continuous mind-torture that he’s inflecting on himself. A real one.

There’s Angela, a good friend. They have a few classes in common and went out to party together a few times before. Maybe he could text her to ask if she’s doing anything today.

Since he’s clearly not about to continue working his homework at any point now, Warren gets up from his desk chair and goes to slump onto his small couch instead. He takes out his phone and sends his friend a text.  
After a little while sipping on his coffee and scrolling through different social medias, he finally gets a reply.

**Hey Warren! Yeaaa im going out with a bunch of friends tonight**

_Oh well_. Warren drops the phone on his lap in defeat accompanied by a long sigh and not even ten seconds later, it vibrates again.

**Want to join?**

_Neat._

**sure :) ty**

**Cool!!! Ill send u the info later**

–

After some thinking ( which involved throwing a good part of his wardrobe’s content on the floor ), Warren opts for a casual look; a nice short-sleeved striped button up over a white t-tee along with cuffed black pants. He slips into a denim jacket as well ‘cause it’s still kinda chilly outside, especially at night.  
Okay maybe it’s not that casual of a look. _Maybe_ he’s trying to impress Angela and her friends a little. Just a _tiny_ bit. Just like he’s been thinking his outfits through at least a day ahead every time he went to see Nathan. _So what?_

Don’t get it wrong, Warren still loves a good ol’ nerdy graphic shirt from time to time. But ever since he got into college he started experimenting with the way he dresses and if you ask him, thrift stores and online shops are heaven-sent gifts to mankind. He finally understands the appeal of actually putting effort into his outfits; it gives him a boost of confidence, makes him feel good to look in the mirror and feel satisfied with how how he looks. Just like he’s doing right now.

Warren quickly checks the time before making a beeline to his little bathroom space in order to fix his hair and brush his teeth. Once he’s ready, he grabs his phone, keys and wallet and heads out.

Just like Angela’s earlier text indicated, it doesn’t take too long for her and her friends to pull up outside Warren’s apartment complex, where they decided to all meet before hitting town. Turns out one of the guys lives here too.  
Angela briefly introduces everyone to Warren. He can’t promise he’s going to remember those five new names but still, he’ll try to.  
He’s seen one of the girls in class a few times and now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he met the guy who lives in his building too at some point.

Angela hasn’t really made clear what tonight’s plan was so Warren’s just tagging along blindly as they all walk and chat in unison. He mentally pats himself on the shoulder for smoothly integrating the different conversations. So far? Pretty nice.

The group arrives to some liquor store after a little while.  
Warren is positive he’s the youngest of the bunch, but is anyone actually legal here? Not like he never got drunk illegally, but he never had to do the buying before. He just drank whatever was sitting here available at parties.  
Before he could ask if anyone had any experience with that store’s owner, one of the guys pulls out an ID from his jeans pocket and shows it off to Warren’s questioning face. _Welp. Fake IDs are another option_ , he guesses.

The guy seems offended by the unimpressed look he received. “It’s a real one, i’m 24.”

“Wait, really?”

“Uh-huh!” He nods before heading into the shop alone.

Angela stifles a laugh as she leans against the nearest wall and starts lighting a cigarette. “He’s fucking with you, he’s not 24.”

A small _“Oh”_ is the only thing Warren can think of replying. Suddenly feeling really naive for not realizing he was just being teased.

Angela extends an arm out to pat him reassuringly and changes the subject of discussion to some class project thing they have in common, while the not-24-years-old-guy is taking care of buying their booze.

He huffs out a laugh at the sudden thought that buying alcohol with a fake ID is, without a doubt, something Nathan’s dumb ass would do.

–

The group got everything they needed from the liquor store without a problem and did not waste any time before walking to their final location a few blocks from here. To one of the friends’ place.  
A bottle got opened and passed around to get them in the mood. And if gulping down tequila in the middle of a poorly lit street wasn’t exactly Warren’s idea of a fun night, he didn’t show it.

Once there, everyone helped out with something. Either by setting up the music, lights, moving furniture around, getting red cups out or placing snacks, stuff to drink and mix with on the bar table.

Warren plops down on the couch next to Angela after taking off his jacket. They chuckle breathlessly together over random stuff, thanks to the remnant of buzz from earlier. The host’s roommate even joined at some point and the two guys enthusiastically made everyone cocktails. Warren can’t really tell what’s in it but _hey_ , it’s tasty. He wouldn’t be on his third one otherwise.

He honestly feels bad about the way he’s more trying to get drunk right now rather than actually connecting and having fun with the group. He just needs the distraction, at least for one night.

“‘Want one?” A girl asks, shaking her pack of cigarettes in Warren’s direction.

“Nah, I don’t smoke. But thanks.”

The girl smiles at him all friendly in acknowledgment yet Warren can’t help but feel like he’s the most awkward person on earth at this moment. He slouches even further into the couch, hoping it’ll end up absorbing him whole so that everyone will ignore him for good.

He looks over to Angela through half lidded, already tired eyes. She’s smiling in her cup, having fun with her friends. He’s got no clue what they’re talking about, most likely some private joke between them.

Her friends.. They’re nice, sure. They make an effort to involve him, a stranger, as much as possible in the discussion.  
But no matter how many cups he’s having in hope of helping himself loosening up, he still doesn’t feel like he belongs here.

 _Maybe parties just aren’t his thing_ , he tries to comforts himself in his distress. Some people are like that, _right?_ When he thinks about it, he never really had fun at Vortex parties back in Blackwell, not that he went that many times.

No. _What the fuck_ is he saying. He’s had plenty of fun parties during these last college years.  
Tonight just isn’t his night.

Warren bites on his cup as he spaces out, deforming the plastic with his teeth.  
He wonders what Nathan was like behind those tall, red VIP curtains, in the secluded space at the back of Vortex parties. Was he having fun with all the other popular members? Or was he only pretending to?

Warren wonders what a part with Nathan would be like. _Mhh_ , maybe not a party. More like a simple chill night with him. Drinking together and listening to music as they talk about nothing and everything.

It’d probably be super fun.

_Fuck._

Alcohol really isn’t helping Warren at all as a distraction right now, _huh_? He can’t get the moron out of his mind.  
Everything reminds him of Nathan, now that it would probably be better for him to forget about their newly developed friendship altogether, more than ever. _The irony._

He knows he shouldn’t have mentioned Victoria to Nathan. Not so soon, and especially not on a Bad-Nathan day.  
But come on. That shit is so fucking unfair. Warren has been nothing but patient with him for the last couples of months. He deserves better than this.

Warren gradually feels more and more nauseated by the minute as his thoughts keep spiraling in a flash.  
He feels shaky. He should go home soon.

When Warren has had enough of feeling like he’s either gonna pass out or barf, he takes advantage of the situation now that everyone’s seemingly too busy to notice him. He grab his jacket from the couch and discreetly joins Angela to the bar, where she moved to fix herself something.

With his voice just loud enough for her to hear over the music, he explains his friend he’s feeling really tired and has been fighting off a migraine for a while now. Which isn’t entirely a lie but he’s mostly exaggerating his symptoms to go home without coming off as rude.  
Angela gets it, but insists on coming along to walk him home. He wasn’t about to argue with her anyway, he’s got no idea what part of town they’re at right now and he’s way too out of it to figure it out himself.

They decide to take one last shot before waving everyone goodbye and showing themselves out. Warren slams the small glass on the table and grimaces as the alcohol burns his throat. Angela coughs out a laugh.  
_Gin. Yuck._

– 

“Hope my friends didn’t come out as too weird.” She breathes out jokingly as she closes the front door behind them.

Warren scratches the nape of his neck. The buzz from that last shot definitely not helping with how sick he’s feeling. Head suddenly spinning from moving around standing up.  
“They’re cool, I’m just a little awkward around new people.”

“They are. They can be a little extra, but i’m sure you’d all be good friends if you knew each other better.”

So it wasn’t just his mean _mean_ brain telling him that; he really was being awkward.  
With his eyes closed, he snorts. “It’s fine.”

“Hey, you’re alright? Besides the headache and shit, I mean.”

Absentmindedly, Warren marches a little slower next to his friend. Actually pondering his answer through furrowed eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

“Warren?”

“I..” He starts with hesitance as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Damn, now he can really feel a headache coming. “I basically had this fight with someone I like some time ago. “Been feeling a little down ever since, but it’s fine. Really.”

Angela walks a little faster to get ahead of him and raises her eyebrow suggestively. A wide grin on her lips. “Someone you like..?”

The realization of what his last statement may have sounded like suddenly hits him like a train and he feels his face getting ridiculously hot.  
“Not like that.” He manages to let out in between cackles, glad he sounds more amused than defensive as he’s now desperately trying not to let his mind drift and make him think about it _like that_.

Angela shushes him by waving around her pointing finger in his face. “You guys need talk it out! No, no no– You guys need to get drunk and _then_ talk!” She slurs her words, not sounding very sober herself.

Warren blankly stares at the floor ahead of him for a moment.  
“It’s more complicated than that.” He admits softly. Voice so quiet, it comes out more as a breath.

He appreciates Angela. He really does. But trust only goes so far in their friendship; he’s not going to tell her about his incarcerated felon friend. It’s not exactly something you can throw out like that in a conversation without expecting a bajillion of questions in return.

 _God._ He’s so done weeping over this stupid quarrel. He can’t let all these months of efforts, efforts from both sides, go down the drain over something this dumb.  
Warren knows that deep inside, Nathan regrets it too. The guy is simply too stupidly proud and stubborn to apologize himself.

Maybe that’s what Nathan needs. Trust.

Trust in Warren.

“Hey,” Angela’s soothing voice puts a stop to his brooding. “Whatever’s going on, i’m sure it’ll be alright soon.”

He hopes she’s right. But sadly, he also knows things rarely just magically get better on their own. If Warren wants things to get better, he’ll have to be the one taking action. He would be ready to act, if only he’d know how to.  
Not really feeling like going off on that depressing tangent right now, he decides to offer her a weak smile in response.

The grip on his arm is slowly loosening and he only notices now it even was there in the first place, just like he’s noticing that they stopped walking at some point in their conversation. _Gee_ , he really is tired.

He looks around them, trying to figure out where the fuck they are.

 _Dude. Warren. My guy. Focus._  
Warren’s silent prayer seems to work because he does recognize the alley they’re currently stationing on. The now closed convenience store behind them, the way this one lamppost is buzzing and that big tag spray painted on the wall...His place isn’t too far away.

He’d like to finish the walk alone, though. Take his time, clear his still fuzzy mind a little.

He finally turns to his friend. “You can leave me there, i’ll manage.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Angela indulges him with a smile although her eyes scream worry. Understanding he’s not exactly giving her a choice here. “Be a sweetheart and text me when you get home. Wouldn’t want you ending up sleeping on the curb or something.”

“’Aight mom. Text me when you get back there too, you don’t look too fresh yourself.” Warren smirks.

“Shhh. Bullshit.”

And just as they start parting ways, Warren turns right back around. His heart thumping way too fast in his chest. Eyes wide open fixed on his friend’s back in the distance.

It hits him. A stroke of genius. He finally figured something out. _Yes!_

He has to go with his gut. Warren can’t stop and think it through now because otherwise he knows he’ll change his mind.

“Wait!”

Angela pauses in her walk and slowly throws a looks behind her shoulder, face hidden by her puffy bleached hair.

“Before you go, could you.. Could you hand me a cig?” He asks with a sheepish smile. Feeling like it’s quite possibly the weirdest thing that came out of his mouth this night.

He hears her snort at the sudden request. “Sure.”

Angela takes a few assured steps in his direction as she reaches in her bag clumsily and Warren jogs up to meet her again. He takes the cigarette that’s handed out to him by his friend along with a curious glance.

“Thank you. Again.”

On his way home for real this time, Warren’s all giddy.

He stares down at the palm of his hand where the cigarette lays. Excited giggles escape his lips, now feeling way more awake than he has any right to be at this time of the night.  
Warren shoves it into his pocket carefully as not to crush it in the process.  
Head filled with determination and arms swinging as walks with a bounce.

He needs to see Nathan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all doing fine during this quarantine, i know i'm not! But here's an update yw
> 
> Sorry i've made Warren vewy sad in this, we need it in order to move forward. It's the rules guys don't blame me  
> I'd like to add..despite what my stinky beta reader thinks, Warren's outfit is very swag. i'm proud of him
> 
> Giving me some feedback on this would be very sexy of u.....til next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've illustrated a scene from chapter 5! Check it out [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_0ubRRqV52/)

“I’ve told you this previously and I'm going to say it again: it’s good for you to have people you can count on. Having a support system is very important, especially when you are in the process of rehabilitation.”

“Yeah. It’s _so_ great.”

The doctor sitting in front of Nathan jerks her head to the side questioningly. Waiting for him to continue.

“Like, so great when I end up disappointing all of them like I always do. They must _love_ that shit.” He explains, dragging out the “o”. He almost instantly cringes at how edgy what he just said sounds like, despite it simply being the truth.

“Nathan.” The woman breathes out, pressing her lips into a fine line disapprovingly. “It’s okay to rely on people. It’s okay to make mistakes.”

He’s heard this many times before and it should feel liberating to be told that _it’s okay_ , but it doesn't. So Nathan doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts biting on his thumb’s already short nail.

“And you are aware of those mistakes. That’s already something.” She adds something to her notes in a quick motion. “Your friend Warren wouldn’t have bothered booking visits to spend time with you again if he didn’t care about you or, if he didn’t believe you could do better.”

For a painfully silent moment, Dr. Lambert analyzes her patient who’s ducking his head down.

“What do we do to make up for a mistake, Nathan?” She asks, eyes expectant but tone forbearing. Soft. “Here’s a clue; you’ve done it multiple times already, not that long ago too. By your own hand. With a pen.”

Nathan looks at his feet under the table, refusing to lift his head and meet the doctor’s gaze. He does that thing way more often than he’d like to admit; avoiding.  
He hates being in that position. He knows where she’s going with this, he knows what he has to do in order to “make up for his mistake”.  
He feels like a goddamn toddler who’s being teached basic socialization all over again. _Go ahead child, say “Hello,” “Thank you.” “Please.” “Goodbye.” and don’t forget “Sorry.”_ It’s like he’s so dumb he has to be reminded how to act like a proper human being.  
Yes he’s done it before _with a pen_. But it’s different this time. It’s not like throwing an apology in the wind like he has done, not really caring if it lands successfully. Here, it has to. That’s why it’s taking so long for Nathan to get back to Warren and _say the word_. It’s not that he doesn’t feel guilty, he simply finds it difficult to apologize.

Apologizing takes guts. In a way, apologizing is lowering yourself, admitting you’re in the wrong. It’s almost humiliating. It’s being vulnerable, with no certainty of it even being worth the trouble.  
The whole reason of their so-called “fight” wasn’t even that bad. But the more he waits, the more awkward it gets and the dumber he feels.

Nathan isn’t sure why he even views it that way, it’s kind of stupid when you think about it. Why can’t he be one of those people who have no trouble saying sorry without giving it another thought? Well, actually, his doctors did explain his “non-apologist behavior” might be the result of a “toxic childhood.” _Yeah, no shit._ Whatever. It would’ve saved him so much trouble in life.

And like just saying the word is the most effort ever, he breathes out nonchalantly. “Apologize.”

The doctor nods her head at him. _There you go, child. Was it that hard?_  
“Now, what are we going to do when we see Warren?”

“Apologize.”

–

Warren passes the security doors of the visiting room and heads for their regular table like he’s done countless times before.  
This time thought, Nathan decides to get up in order to greet the guy with a shake of the hand. Except he does it so suddenly the chair’s rusty feet scrap the floor in a god awfully loud manner that immediately makes him wince.

Warren’s shoulders shake with a soft chuckle at the scene unfolding in front of him. And when their eyes finally meet properly, he offers Nathan a smile that’s just so full of warm, genuine fondness. He hasn’t even said anything yet but that smile says so much already. _“Hey, it’s been a while. I’ve kinda missed this.”_ Nathan agrees silently, _Me too_. Praying his feelings aren’t as readable on his face as they are on his friend’s.

“So, uh… About last time.” _Alright. Now or never._

“Hey, I’m s-”

“-Sorry.” The two men talk over each other in an echoey babble. Both now starting a staring contest in a silent daze as they take in one another’s apology.

_Well. This is awkward._

“No I- _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn't have asked about Victoria. It was none of my business. Really.” Warren makes amends once again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Still, I didn’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

He slowly nods in agreement at that and _hell_ , Nathan can’t even be mad at him for it. At least they’re on the same wavelength now. Everything’s good and forgotten, _just like that._ Dr. Lambert’s probably laughing somewhere in the distance.

“So, what have you been up to during..” Nathan gestures. _During all this time I was being too much of a pussy to reach out and say sorry?_ “You know, all this time.”

“Honestly,” He sighs and props his chin in the palm of his hand casually. “Nothing much.”

Nathan raises an eyebrow at him in a way that clearly says _“I don’t believe you.”_

Warren shrugs. “For real, mostly school stuff. Not like I have the most entertaining life in the first place anyway. What about you?”

“Nothing much either.” Nathan stretches his back, raising long arms in the air. “Just been more bored than usual. I guess.”

Nathan’s so damn grateful he’s not getting taunted for the silent, implied _“without you.”_

Warren tells him about his job in retail and how everyone there is a real pain in the ass. He also tells Nathan about his friend friend from university and that time he went out with a few new people to drink and blow some steam off.  
Nathan would never admit it explicitly but he’s kind of jealous. Not of Warren, mind you, but of his friends. _Oh well. What the fuck did he expect._ They’re out there and.. He’s in _here_ , after all. Of course Warren would have friends outside of Oregon’s Correctional Facility’s _favorite crazy._ He wonders how they’d react if they knew Warren was friends with someone like Nathan.

“Wanna know something funny?”

“Mhh?”

“We’re not allowed to have curtains in the showers anymore.”

Warren laughs out incredulously. “What?”

Nathan rubs his temples. “I’m telling you right now. With absolutely no doubt. That I've seen more asses in the span of 24 hours than you’ll ever see in your entire life.”

“I believe that.” Warren snorts. “But no curtains? Why? I mean, I know prisons aren’t known for being the most ethical places you can be at but man..” He asks, a little concerned.

“Some bozo tried to hang himself on a shower curtain rod, basically.”

“Oh. Oh wow.” Warren mutters, clearly a little uncomfortable.

 _Shit._ Was that a weird thing to say so casually? He just meant to talk about the asses thing, not really the whole _“why”_ part.

“Velcro.”

“Velcro..?”

“Yes, velcro. They could put velcro curtains instead of the regular rings ones. That way there would be no risk of that kinda incident happening again.” Warren explains, expression deep in thoughts.

Nathan leans back in his chair, head dropping to the side as he observes his friend with a playful smile. “Uh.”

“Just an idea.” He shrugs.

“Wha’d’you study already?”

“Sciences. Maths. Mostly physics.”

“The whole nerd shebang…Didn’t expect anything less from you.”

“Of course.” Warren rolls his eyes at Nathan.

“What are your plans for the future then? Teaching? Lab rat? Selling DIY explosives on the dark web?”

“Honestly I'm not entirely sure yet.” The younger man admits, scratching behind his ear. “But yeah, I’d like to teach one day. Maybe. That’d be nice.”

Nathan keeps staring at him for a moment, without replying. And Warren seems to take it as a bad sign because he looks down, letting out a sheepish laugh.

“Lame. I know.”

“Not at all?” Nathan reassures him, voice appearing almost indignant at the fact that Warren even dared to believe he’d think that about him. “I’m sure you’ll be a great professor. You’re smart as hell.”

“My, my. Thank you.” He seems genuinely surprised at the sudden compliment, in a good way. Bringing his hand to his chest with a shocked expression on his face like some damn theater kid.

“Aight. Don’t let your ego implode there, Graham.”

One of the guards’ just announced the inmates and their visitors that they only have a few minutes left before the hour ends. Time to wrap this up.

Warren looks around the room in a hurry and whispers to Nathan. “Give me your hands.” He bends down to pick at something on the ground before even waiting for an answer.

“’Scuse me?”

“Just do it. Trust me.”

Confused _as shit_ , Nathan searches for an explanation in his friend’s eyes. But it seems Warren doesn’t want to give him one.

_“Trust me.”_

Nathan slides his fists across the table in a slow motion, like he’s been asked. An eyebrow raised skeptically.

Warren immediately nudges his hands with his own to open and turn them around so that the palms are facing up. Finally, he grasp them fully.  
At that, Nathan’s entire body flinches and his hands go limp in Warren’s. Like they’re melting. _What the fuck is this dumbass doing?_ He can practically feel the heat emerging off him and floating above his shoulders. He curses himself internally. _What am I? A little girl?_

Warren doesn’t seem to notice Nathan’s internal freak-out and instead just smiles at him. After a second, he squeezes the man’s hands. Then, he rolls them back into fists before retreating his own arms under the table.

Nathan isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that the sudden intimacy didn’t bother him as much as it should have. To be fair, he can’t really remember the last time anyone had touched him. Except of course the guard who frisked him before he got into the visiting room.

“Don’t act suspicious.”

_What?_

Warren’s glare swings from Nathan’s hand to Nathan’s eyes and the strange sensation of something sitting inside his palm finally hits him. He opens it up to peek inside and rapidly closes it back with eyes wide as saucers.

“You son of a bitch.”

Warren grins, all proud of himself. _This fucker._

“I wasn’t- I didn’t mean-” Nathan, still taken aback, can’t help the laugh escaping his throat. “Holy shit dude."

–

Nathan is definitely gonna have trouble hitting the sack tonight.

He’s laying on his back as comfortably his twin sized, thin mattress allows him to be. Between his thumb and pointer finger is a cigarette. The one Warren gave him earlier today, just before their visiting hour ended. Cause he’s actually done it. Nathan only joked about Warren smuggling in a cigarette for him but he actually managed to do just that. And for what? Who knows.  
The ghost of a smile dances on his lips in reminiscence.

Chats about the future, about having a purpose. Life goals. He needed those from someone other than his doctors _so desperately._ Warren didn’t ask back about Nathan’s plans for the future but it still hasn’t left his mind regardless. It’s not often that Nathan actually tries to imagine what his future could look like. In a positive way that is.  
How can you imagine what your future self’s life could be like when you didn’t even see yourself living past the age of 18, at most.  
It’s not easy, never has been and definitely hasn’t gotten easier ever since he got incarcerated.

Nathan doesn’t exactly have any life plans in mind. Well, his plan used to be _“become a well respected, famous photographer.”_ But he isn’t too sure about that one now, after... After everything.  
For years he’s just been going with the flow, unsure of what to do with his life. Unsure if anything was even worth it. Looking for experiences to get his blood pumping. But not too much. Because somehow he craved the uncertainty of things just as much as he feared it.  
But that clearly wasn’t the smart thing to do, as it leaded him right where he is today.

_Life is too unpredictable._

He holds the cigarette up in the air and looks at it fading in the yellow glow of his bedside lamp, like some old dude examining a gold nugget at the bed of some shitty river. Which is actually a pretty accurate metaphor.

A bang on his cell’s door is what gets Nathan out of his day dreaming.

“Prescott.”

The inmate looks up lazily and his brows furrow in confusion when his eyes meet with a guard. _What now?_

“Get your ass up and head to room E227 right now. Your lawyers are waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy let's pretend it didn't take me 40 days to write this! thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

With his school year being over and having a few days off of work, Warren decides it’s a good time to go and pay a visit to his old folks. Back in Arcadia Bay.

The car ride was a rowdy one. His music playlist was all over the place.  
He has been working on making the perfect one for days now, it’s just a little gift for Nathan but Warren’s perfectionist ass keeps overthinking every song he’s adding as his life depends on it. Constantly restarting it all over again because _Is Nathan even into this genre? No, this song is too long. That one’s way too cheesy. Does he even care? This one has to be first. Wait no, that one’s much better._ But it’s okay because perseverance is failing 19 times and succeeding the 20th. He _will_ finish this playlist.

No offense to his parents, but every time he comes home the thing he looks forward to the most is jumping on the sofa to cuddle with Mr. Bigglesworth. Petting the old cat’s white puffy fur always makes the long car ride worth it.  
Warren got her when he was still a kid as a birthday gift and despite the feline being a girl, he insisted that he was gonna name her after Dr. Evil’s cat from the Austin Powers movies. _Oh_ , he loves his chunky senior kitty. This beast is for real immortal, it’s impressive.

His room is in the same state he left it the last time he came, except for the bedsheets he presumes his mom changed the day prior. Everything is still here, from science trophies exposed proudly in glass cases to old movie and video game posters on the walls. D&D figurines and campaigns on a shelf next to merch items that are just as nerdy. _Ah yes. My Freddy Fazbear small plush._  
The only difference is the thin but noticeable layer of dust covering it all.

After some digging, he even finds a camera, which he had completely forgotten about. His grandfather got him this as a gift when Warren had told him he was thinking about joining the photography class in Blackwell. It’s actually a good brand, he kinda feels bad about barely using it and ultimately forgetting about its existence…  
He blows the small particles off the camera and turns it around while examining it and hums, “I might find a use for you..”

Back in the living room, Warren and his parents waste no time to catch up on all that’s been happening in their respective lives. Looks like he missed on quite a lot there. His mom found a better job, dad got to help with the yearly firework launch on the beach again ( _god that thing is so cool,_ he needs to attend it next year ) and his cousins are leaving for college this year. He should try and meet up with them while they’re all still here. Apparently Mr. Bigglesworth swallowed a whole bee and somehow survived. _Good girl._

He cannot wait to come by the Two Whales diner to say hi to Joyce and eat some of her delicious pancakes again like he would do so often after school.  
Max had told him Chloe’s mom came back to work last year after a long, well-deserved break. That’s good. Warren hopes she’s doing ok. Bills won’t pay themselves, after all…

During dinner, when Warren’s mom sets down the food, he cracks a joke about only having been eating pasta and fast food for the past months. Although, his parents seem more concerned than amused. _“It’s a joke, guys! I do cook! Sometimes?..”_

They eat mostly in silence, exchanging a few words from time to time and listening to the TV newscast playing softly in the background. Warren hasn’t lived a domestic moment like this in what feels like forever.  
His father looks up to the monitor for a moment, brows furrowed, before swiftly picking up the remote and turning up the volume significantly.

_“In 2015, this small town of Oregon was suddenly in the spotlight after famous photographer and former art teacher Mark Jefferson was found guilty of drugging and kidnapping multiple young girls, eventually leading to the accidental murder of 18 year old Rachel Amber, by the hand of his young student and associate, Nathan Prescott.”_

The two other heads join the first one and turn to the screen in unison. Warren’s stomach drops at the mention of this one name. _Huh?_

The newscaster’s flat voice continues. _“Well, those are now unreliable facts. As Mark Jefferson has recently admitted to solely being the one to blame for miss Amber’s death.”_

_What?_

_“ –admitted to lying in court and previously manipulating young Prescott into thinking he had killed his former classmate. These new elements now being brought to the case will soon lead to a new trial, and will most likely result in a change in both men’s sentences; While Jefferson will most likely know a heavier verdict, mister Prescott, also convicted for involuntary manslaughter, presumably may be able to see the light of day through the possibility of being released out of prison on bail after only three years in. The citizens of Arcadia Bay can’t seem to catch a br–”_

The journalist is cut off mid-sentence by Warren’s father who decides to completely turn off the TV and resumes eating after a long, tired sigh.

 _What the fuck is happening?_ Warren’s still processing what he had just heard, eyes fixed blankly on the now black TV screen. Feeling too many emotions at once and ultimately having the sentiment that his head is completely empty.  
“Just three years, huh.” His mother laughs, but she clearly doesn’t find any of it funny. “Goddamn Prescotts. Crazy what these people can get away with...”

Warren stays silent, feeling his stomach twisting in all kinds of painful ways.  
He can’t bring himself to look at his parents’ faces right now. At their reaction. He just sets back his gaze to the half-full plate of food sitting in front of him, but ends up closing his eyes quickly because he can still see his father shaking his head in his field of view. He hears a fork gritting ceramic and physically cringes at the sound.

Warren really doesn’t feel like eating anymore.

–

He hasn’t been there in a while, honestly has been avoiding the whole area ever since he left for college. He’d usually decline coming here to see his parents with a half-assed excuse, or he’d force them to come to his place instead. _Oh yeah mom, the weather is so much nicer here during this time of the year!_

But recent events made him rethink everything. He wants to see it again. The place that almost got destroyed at the cost of a simple click of a polaroid camera.  
It’s beaches covered in sand so thin it gets everywhere, sticks to your skin and gets in your hair. The streets across. The diners. The strange duality between the fishermen yelling about their daily catch right next to businessmen waiting silently for their bus. The mountains, endless forests with trees so tall you can barely see the sun anymore. The wind blowing through their branches, giving you the impression that those green gods are murmuring secrets right into your ear. The big lighthouse, standing on its bed of rocks like the ultimate guardian of this bay.  
And then, there was Blackwell Academy.

Arcadia Bay, the place that changed so many lives. For the better or worst. Mostly the worst.  
Yet he can’t help but miss this place. It’s beauty and strange connection to time and space. It’s where he grew up, after all.

Warren gets to an old bench near the lighthouse. The view here is truly breathtaking. It makes you feel so small yet so.. powerful. On top of the world. If he’d squint his eyes hard enough he could probably find his house from there.  
No wonder Chloe and Max used to love that spot. Warren runs his fingers gently over the bench’s worn out wood panels. Traces over the scratches, carved signs and initials. Feels them and every story behind them. Feels the wind on his face, warm and welcoming. Throws his head back, breathing slowly through his open mouth. Eyes on the small cloud over his head up in the sky.  


He had called Max earlier, right after he fled from dinner to his bedroom. She heard about the news before him but ultimately decided that when it comes to Nathan, she wouldn’t bring up anything before Warren decides to.  
So they talked about it. What could come from Nathan eventually getting out of jail in the near future? What it would mean for them?

Warren finally explained to Max the real nature of his relationship with the convict; how they weren’t just pen pals but actual pals now. Funniest part is that she wasn’t even close to surprised, she actually _“kinda figured it out already”_. Saying Warren has _“a good heart”_ and a _“constant need to help out those around him.”_ Well then. If he hadn’t guessed that his friend knows more about him than he does about her before that call, he definitely gets it now. Max doesn’t think badly of their friendship either. Nor does she hates Nathan. She had already explained her opinion on him back in that coffee shop but went over it again to reassure Warren.  
Even after everything, she still doesn’t despise him. She knows better than anyone that it was all about circumstances. Terrible ones.

_“If Nathan had more help, more support...This might’ve gone a different way. I think about him chilling out on the grass in the other timeline. I hate what he did, but... I can’t hate him.”_

That particular sentence had moved Warren. Made him nod, mouth closed into a thin line as he imprinted it all in the back of his mind; the image of Nathan in another life. Serene. Happy.  
Max believed him when he murmured that there is still a chance Nathan could experience it. Warren promised himself he would help his friend achieve that life. A _normal_ one. One he deserves, even though Nathan himself doesn’t fully believe it.

 _Yeah._ He’s sure of it now.  
He’ll stand by Nathan’s side no matter what happens. No matter what people think of it, of him.  


His phone buzzes inside his pocket, the screen displays “Unknown” but Warren is aware of the caller’s identity already. He’s been waiting for that call but still, he has to take a second to compose himself before answering it.  
An automatic robotic voice announces, “Hello. This is a pre-paid collect call from Oregon State Correctional Institution for inmate Nathan Prescott. Say yes if you would like to accept this call.”

“Yes.”

Beeeep–

Nathan’s sheepish voice comes on the line. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Do you know why I'm calling you for or..?” He trails off.

“Yeah, just saw it on TV.”

Nathan takes a second before replying, like he was thinking carefully about his next words.  
“I couldn’t tell you yet. Like, legally and all.”

“I guessed so.”

In the silence Nathan is offering him, Warren can hear indistinct sounds of other inmates in the background. As well as his breathing. He imagines the man leaning on the phone box dramatically, like they always do in movies.

“You okay?”

“Huh?”

Warren repeats. “Are you doing okay? With all that’s happening I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Nathan sighs softly. “Yeah. It’s good news. I think.”

“Okay.” Warren breathes out in a gentle tone that matches his.

“I’m still gonna have meetings with lawyers and doctors to figure all that shit out before I go back to trial. Pretty sure I'm gonna get transferred as well. It’s gonna take some time.” He explains, voice having a hard time hiding the obvious fatigue behind it.

Warren hums.

“Not sure when I'll be able to get visitors.”

“Oh, right.” He kicks a small rock with the tip of his shoe, sending it right into the ocean below. “Just let me know when and where and I'll be there.”

“Sure, I'll keep you updated if I can. And... Again, sorry you had to hear about it like that.”

Warren closes his eyes. Smiles at the discreet but meaningful apology, coming from someone like Nathan.  
“Thank you for giving me a call, Nate.”

All he can hear is Nathan breathing into the phone, thoughtful. _Was the nickname too much?_ But he soon breaks the awkward silence and breathes out a laugh through his nose, quiet but not quiet enough for Warren to not pick it up. “Thought I should tell you... The shower velcro thing. It worked.”

He straightens up his posture at the good news. “Wait, really?” He didn’t think Nathan would actually go through with the random idea he threw at him back during that visit. _Damn. This guy actually listens._

“Yeah. Smartass.” A rare instance of a genuine smile can be heard in the usually so dull voice.

Before Warren can reply with something sassy to the playful insult, he gets cut off by muffled voices from the other end of the line. A deep one, and what he assumes is Nathan’s nasally one. Though he tries, Warren can’t make anything out of what’s being said.

“Hello?”

No response. The voices only stop for a second before getting replaced by a loud clatter; what Warren can guess is the phone hitting and scrapping the prison’s paved floor, holding only by its wire. Then a new noise. And another one. _Are these people...cheering? What’s happening?_

“Nathan?” Warren asks once again, voice more insistent this time.

A big thud, like a mass, got dropped right next to the speaker. Accompanied by a grunt. The last thing he hears are the long, eerie beeping sounds as the phone finally gets hang up.

The air around Warren suddenly feels terribly cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bro..Ion even got shit to say about that hiatus...  
> Thank you all so much for +100 kudos and +1k hits !! I be doing big numbazz babyy  
> I hope this chapter feeds you well enough for the next 4 months! Jkkkk (or am I..?)


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Nathan notices when he wakes up is how much more comfortable whatever he’s lying on is compared to his usual mattress. _Infirmary bed?_  
The second is how painfully heavy his noggin feels. _Yup. Definitely infirmary bed._

He lazily cracks an eye open, lashes stuck together like he finally got the 7 to 9 hours of sleep he was constantly told he needed. And sure thing, if the soft bedding didn’t give the location away at first, those bright white tiled walls covered with medical posters enclosing him along with the dead silence did.  
As soon as the man tries to sit up, his head throbs like it’s gonna implode at any moment. He brings his hand to his sweaty forehead mechanically and hisses at the pain. _Huh. Stitches?_

Nathan barely remembers anything from what happened before he blacked out.  
He tries though, as he carefully touches by the tip of his fingers the sutured wound on the tail of his eyebrow. 

He remembers being on the phone with Warren. Yeah, he had to call him to talk about his possible sentence change. Then some damn meathead came and bugged him.

His silent little investigation comes to a close when he sees Dr. Lambert getting through the door accompanied by a nurse.

“Hello, Nathan.” She greets him with a smile. _Happy to see me maimed, much?_  


He grumbles back, just to be polite.  


“How are you feeling?”  


“Was I sent into a coma or something? ‘Cause it sure feels like it.” He croaks then clears his throat.  


The doctor gives him that fake, customer service laugh. “You could say that, yes. Eyewitnesses said you had an altercation with another inmate while on the phone, the situation eventually slipped before guards could come and break the fight. So, here you are now.”  


Nathan repeats her sarcastically. “Here I am.”  


She gets closer to her patient. She checks his wound and fills with water the glass that was sitting next to his bed this whole time. He instantly gets a hold of it and drowns it. His throat felt as dry as a fucking desert.  


“Do you remember anything at all?” She asks, a little concerned.  


“Huh.”

He can recall Warren’s voice, happy. The shower curtain thing. _Yes, that’s it._ He too, was glad. He remembers smiling to the wall like a dumbass, unable to help it.

 _“Ya’ done talking with your little boyfriend here?”_  
A big voice. An even bigger dude. _Fuck off, lardass._

Nathan can only guess what happened from there. “Yeah. I think I do.”

“Well,” Dr. Lambert sighs. “I came here to tell you that this little slip-up is gonna have consequences.” She sounds almost sorry.  
Nathan would raise her eyebrows at her right now, if only it didn’t hurt like hell.  


“No visits.”  


“What? Why? But it was that guy’s fault !” He protests and God, he hates how his first reaction is to throw a fit like a kid. Voice high-pitched, indignant. “He started it.”  


“It doesn’t really matter now. In the end, you went with it, right? That’s what you’re getting penalized for.”

It makes sense, but he still hates it.

“How long?” He finally asks after being silent for a moment.  


“I’d say a while. You’re gonna be busy preparing for the upcoming trial either way.”

Nathan looks down blankly. _Shit. Sorry, Warren._

“Rest, Nathan. We’ll see each other again soon.”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he simply follows the two women out of the infirmary room with his gaze and waits until they’re out for good to let himself rest. With a grunt, his head drops on the pillow. 

“Fucking everything up again, are we?”

 _Shit._ That voice is trouble.  
Nathan runs shaky hands across his face until his palms align with his eyes and rubs hard, concentrating on the pain of stitches pulling on his eyebrow. He grounds himself with the sound of his own fast heartbeat, resonating inside his burning up skull. The smell of antiseptics soaking up the whole room. The ticking of a clock, whether that one sound is real or not.  
Concentrating on anything but the weight he can feel at the foot of his bed. Crushing his legs. Pulling on the sheet, ruffling. 

The sweet, honey-like voice of a girl he once knew and loved. Taunting him.

It seems so real. Feels real. But Nathan knows it’s nothing but his fucked up brain tricking him. Blurring the borders between what’s tangible, solid, reality with a big R, and what’s imaginary. He’s used to it, after all.

Seeing Rachel became a regular occurrence ever since he found out about the truth.

He’s still… digesting it. All of it. Wounds that still felt fresh to him suddenly got stabbed back in violently. Stinging even worse this time, for different reasons.  
In the end, Nathan wasn’t the one sending Rachel to her demise. And after years of believing in lies, what he feels is not relief. Because he may not be his friend’s executioner, but it still means that he’s the biggest, dumbest, cretin of all time for believing that he ever was. He ate all that shit up, like he has for years. Even when he thought he was done with Mark’s bullshit, finally free from his grip, he was still his little pawn. Living in a lie he was fed so easily.  
So no, it’s not comforting. And yes, he’s gonna do his damn best to stop himself from thinking about it at all.

Nathan’s skin tingles at the ghost-like, gentle touch his hand is enduring.  
“Go away. Not now.”

_I could really use that cigarette right about-fucking-now._

\- 

Dr. Lambert was right, all those reunions with lawyers, doctors along with other legal advisers that swear they’re _“here to help”_ , do take a major part of his time.  
It’s keeping him busy, although he’d rather just spend this time talking with Warren about whatever geeky shit the guy’s into at the moment. But he can’t, because he’s still _grounded._

Nathan will see him again soon, he has something important to talk about with him.  
He’s been thinking about it for a while now and today’s fun little get-together (that’s supposed to be the last one) comforted him in his decision. It's the right thing to do.

Basically, he’s got all his chances to get out on bail.  
With his criminal and mental record, any inmate in his position wouldn’t have a choice. But of course, he isn’t just “any inmate” ; thanks to his family’s influence, Nathan has been given the possibility to choose between moving into a halfway-home after his release in order to adjust to a _normal_ life again, or to simply come back home. 

_Hah. “Home” my ass. Shit is worse than prison._

It’s a surprise to absolutely no one when Nathan chooses the halfway-home.  
The more he avoids his family, the better he’ll behave. Wide-open arms can feel so cold. He’s seen more than enough of his father in the past weeks for all the arrangements. Bail’s gotta get paid somehow and _daddy’s big money bags_ is the only “somehow” possible for him. 

Nathan looks at the circle of professionals around him, shaking each other's hands with a big smile. All of them looking at him all proud like they just won a goddamn war together.  
Well. Technically, they have.  
He’s gonna be a free man in no time. Things are moving, getting better in ways no one ever thought they ever could have for the ugly Prescott duckling. Luckiest guy of the fucking century.

So why the hell does Nathan feel like nothing is really changing? Why is he feeling so… indifferent? He’s been thinking about this moment for so long that it doesn’t even feel real now that it’s actually happening.  
Sometimes he wonders if he’s incapable of healing, or something like that. Maybe he should talk about it more to his shrink. Actually, he probably shouldn’t.

He gets up from his chair, ready to finally leave this room where the air is getting harder and harder to breathe.  


“One last thing, Mr. Prescott.” One of the lawyers stops him. “You’re in absolutely no obligation to accept but… Mark Jefferson has requested to speak with you.”  


For a moment, Nathan freezes.  


“As I've said, you don’t ha-” The man gets cut off by a sneer. Nathan is openly laughing at his face now. Well, not his face. Jefferson’s. 

The convict combs his hair back with a sweep of the hand and heads for the exit.  
Just under the doorframe, his steps take a halt. Head down, fists clenched.

“Tell him I said _fuck off_.”

\- 

Warren comes a little too early. The staff makes him wait in front of the visiting room for a few minutes and seeing his embarrassed face through the glass doors make Nathan laugh to himself.

“Sorry they wouldn’t let me bring in a candle, ‘something about it being flammable and dangerous. Can you believe that?” Warren says as he hands Nathan a small cake he probably got from the distributor along with a colorful card.  
Nathan hums at him questioningly before opening it up.

**Woah, you’re old! Happy Birthday!**

Nathan’s head turns to Warren, eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.  


“What? Forgot your own birthday?” He teases.  


“No, no.” Still looking at the card, Nathan sits down slowly and Warren mirrors him. “I don’t remember ever telling you my date of birth.”  


“Oh. Huh. You didn’t.” Warren scratches his neck and smiles sheepishly. “I kinda went spy-mode on this one... Hope you don’t mind.”

Gotta give the guy credits; Warren’s unexpected, kind gesture definitely lit up something in Nathan’s cold, dead heart. But all he did to express that gratefulness to him was biting a fat chunk out of the cake.

“I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy.” Warren points to Nathan’s face, who seems to have forgotten about the fresh scar as he brings his hand to touch where his friend’s finger aimed and stops mid-movement, remembering. He looks down. _Right._  


“Does it still hurt?”  


Shaking his head, he reassures Warren. “Nah.”  


“Wait, was this from that one time..? I didn’t get to ask you what happened at the end of the phone call.” He throws a concerned look at Nathan.  


“Yup.”  


Hesitantly, Warren asks. “Wanna talk about it?”  


“Nuh-huh.” Nathan crosses his arms. “Doesn’t matter anyway ‘cause I’ll be out of this circus soon. Ain’t gonna be no more clowns getting on my nerves on the daily.”  


“Except for me, of course.”  


“About that…” He starts, eyes locked on the empty plastic wrap sitting on the table in front of him. “Y’know i’ve been chatting with my good buddies, law people, to prepare for the trial and what comes next. So I was thinking...” He trails off. 

“Yeah?”  


“If I get out- When I get out,” Nathan corrects himself. “Could you, ehrm…” _Well. This is embarrassing._ “Could you pick me up? From here, I mean.” 

It’s not like Nathan has a large variety of options when it comes to people he can ask that to. Some officers could probably drive him to the halfway-home, sure. His father would too. But none of those felt right.  
If there’s one person with whom Nathan would want to spend his first whiff of freedom-flavored fresh air outside of this hell hole, it’s the man seated right across from him right now.  


Those big hazel eyes, surprised at these words and the meaning they hold. Because for anyone else, anyone normal, this is nothing. Just a casual question. _Hey, let’s have lunch together. Yo, mind picking me up?_ But to them, it’s almost like a promise. A promise to meet out there, in the real world, again. A new dynamic to this fresh relationship they have just developed.

Warren smiles at him in silence for a second. Then he chuckles lightly and tells Nathan in a soft voice, “Yeah. Of course.”  
Nathan finally gives in to the grin that has been threatening him to break through.

Just like a sign of fate, the end of the visiting hour gets announced by a guard. Putting a perfect end to this conversation, as Nathan didn’t have anything else to add in order to fill the awkward blank that might’ve happened.  
So like everyone else in the room, the two men get up. 

Warren circumvents the table that’s separating them, step by step, getting closer and closer. Until he slides an arm over Nathan’s shorter frame, tip-toeing his way into an embrace that Nathan accepts. Reciprocates, as he timidly grabs at the arm that’s holding him.  
He closes his eyes, feeling the warmth and Warren’s discreet perfume. Warren shifts a little, cradling his face against Nathan’s neck.

A whisper, right there over his bare skin, “Thank you.” Nathan can feel all of his hair sticking up. Body electric. “Thank you for trusting me.”

At that moment nothing else matters.

Not the assholes who might be watching again. Not Nathan’s own fear of being perceived without his forts, vulnerable. Nor does the voice in his head, urging him to run. Or his heartbeat, going a hundred miles an hour against Warren’s chest before it finally slows down. Feeling soothed like a damn baby as he’s being held tight. Warren might as well go and start rocking him like one too and Nathan wouldn’t even be able to find the energy within himself to complain.  


It feels odd, but it feels nice. It feels right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you've enjoyed your grahamscott crumbs here  
> There's... a lot going on rn. My thoughts are all over the place and I seriously hope it doesn't transcribe too much on my writing grrr


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